


Instinct and a Winning Smile

by SassySnowperson (DramaticEntrance)



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Escape, Imprisonment, Multi, Not the healthiest polyamory negotiations, POV Antoc Merrick, Polyamory Negotiations, Sex explicitly discussed, Wartime Relationships, but they're trying their best
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-01-29 20:27:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21416176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DramaticEntrance/pseuds/SassySnowperson
Summary: Antoc Merrick never wanted to be in the middle of Mon Mothma's fling with her spymaster. But that's exactly where his substandard sabaac face has landed him.
Relationships: Davits Draven/Antoc Merrick/Mon Mothma
Comments: 12
Kudos: 28
Collections: Star Wars Rare Pairs Exchange 2019





	Instinct and a Winning Smile

**Author's Note:**

  * For [incognitajones](https://archiveofourown.org/users/incognitajones/gifts).

> IncognitaJones, thank you for the challenge of throwing these three characters together! The dynamics were so much fun to play with. Hope you enjoy it.

Antoc walked a careful perimeter around the too small, too cold room. He came to rest next to where Mon sat slumped against the wall. Her arms hugged her knees and her chin rested atop them. A shiver ran through her; the fabric of her dress clearly not doing enough to keep out the cold. Antoc wished he had a blanket he could give her.

Instead, he did the next best thing, sliding down the wall to sit next to her. After offering a careful hum as a sign of his intent, he reached his arm around her shoulders. She leaned against him without hesitation, short trembles running through her. The contact seemed to help, and Antoc could feel her muscles slowly relax as she rested against him.

"Looks like we're stuck here for the moment. Duracrete walls, durasteel door. I don't see an easy way out," Antoc muttered.

"Of all the bad luck...." Mon shook her head. "Sorry to drag you into this, General."

"I'm your escort, ma'am. I think it's safe to say it's my job to get dragged into things. In fact, considering local thugs got the drop on us, I rather think I'm the one that should be apologizing."

Mon shook her head, dismissing his apology. After a moment she said, low and serious, "I don't think they recognized me."

Antoc hummed in consideration. "Think you're right. They didn't seem to have any sort of special interest. Think they're just trying to grab rich-looking tourists to hold as a ransom. Like you said, stupid bad luck."

"We should get a story straight," Mon said.

"We're tourists," Antoc started. "Here for the Steam Forest." 

"Right...husband and wife?" Mon continued. "Limits the potential ransom pool, if they think we know the same people."

"Sensible. Names?"

"Same as the scandocs. I insisted on keeping my own last name."

"Naturally. You're an independent woman," Antoc inclined his head to her, infusing his tone with slight teasing as he said, "I wouldn't ask you to change."

Mon gave a weak laugh. "Appreciated. We give him a Rebellion contact as someone to speak with, yes? General Draven is the obvious choice."

Antoc couldn't quite help his flinch at the sudden mention of Davits. Davits was the one thing he tried very hard _not_ to think about whenever he found himself alone with Mon. "It is," he said after too long a pause. "My brother? I can give them a name Davits will recognize."

Mon inclined her head. "That works. Once the General is aware of our predicament, I have no doubt a rescue will come shortly thereafter."

"He's a reliable sort," Antoc said, not quite able to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

Mon stiffened, pushing away from Antoc slightly. "Do we have a problem, General Merrick?"

"No ma'am," Antoc answered truthfully.

"I have listened to a great many men lie to me, I've gotten quite good at seeing through it. I'd rather resolve whatever it is now, if you please."

"_We_ do not have a problem. _I_ might have a problem, personally, but I'm working it out on my own time."

Mon gave a slight sigh, folding her arms and pulling away from him further. "Indulge me, then, what is your personal problem?"

Antoc leaned back far enough to give Mon a considering look. "That an order, ma'am?"

Mon gave him an irritated look. "Of course not. But I don't want whatever it is interfering with—" Mon gave a sharp gesture between the two of them. "But if your secrets are so important, I won't order them out of you."

Antoc nodded. "Good. My problem is that you're sleeping with Davits and it's fucking him up."

Mon stiffened, not pulling any further away from Antoc only because she was frozen. "I don't see how that's your business. It hasn't impacted our professional work."

"It isn't," Antoc agreed. "And it doesn't. But I've been fond of him since he was a twitchy, hyper-vigilant mess of a defector. I've taken to looking after him. Been doing it for years. He's done a lot to put himself back together again."

"Yes," Mon said warily, "And I know you two aren't without your own history." 

Antoc stretched out his legs and tried to get comfortable against the wall. "Yes. I've slept with him too."

"Doesn't it strike you as a bit hypocritical to push your way between us, then?" 

Antoc looked over at Mon, and gave her a sad smile. "Of course it is. That's why I wasn't going to say anything." 

Mon blinked, the gave a small laugh, shaking her head. "Apologies. Will you let me blame the stress and duck out of this conversation gracefully?" 

"Of course," Antoc said, giving her a small smile and ducking his head. "Consider it dropped." 

They made it another five minutes, talking through their plan and its contingencies, before Mon got a stubborn look on her face. In council meetings, it usually preceded her insisting they stick with a plan that was more morally strategic than militarily so. 

Antoc was busy trying to figure out what possible objection she had to their current action plan, when she finally said, "Why did you say 'it's fucking him up?'"

Antoc sighed. "What happened to dropping this?" 

Mon gave a rueful smile. "A thought occurred to me; I've watched you with your squadrons. You're a master of managing group dynamics. So, while you're not obligated to share, I realized I'd be a fool to discount your instincts." 

"I might just be jealous," Antoc said, still trying to divert the conversation. He saw the problem, certainly, but he didn't have a solution, and he couldn't see any way his sticking his nose in helped the situation. 

But Mon pressed, with a gentle, "Antoc. Please. You didn't say it was bad for me. Or bad for you. You said it was bad for him, and I'd like to know why."

Antoc shook his head slowly. "He worships you, Mon. He's got you up on this pedestal." 

Mon cracked out a sharp laugh. "I assure you he does not." 

Antoc sighed. "Never said he had an easy relationship with his religion. But you're his…I don't know, god, prophet, whatever, and getting the chance to be, if you'll excuse my bluntness, carnal, is really doing a number on his head." 

Mon frowned, a small pensive gesture. "Are you sure we're talking about the same man? Davits Draven, the one who argues me in circles every council meeting, the man who spends human lives like they're numbers in a balance book? That one?"

"He's a defector," Antoc said, stubbornly. "Everyone forgets that. He had a nice cushy job in the Imperial ranks that he left. Left to join a doomed little cause." 

"I take offense to that," Mon said wryly. 

"You're the one that said the man ran the numbers. Think like he does. Would he defect? To us? He could have run to the outer rim, there's at least half a dozen criminal organizations that would set him up for life in exchange for the intel he gave us for free." 

Mon didn't answer, but Antoc knew her, too. She picked at her dress in a pensive gesture she only used when she was very deep in thought. 

Antoc shut up and let her think. 

"He wouldn't," Mon finally said, flattening her hand against her dress. "The man I have constructed in my head, he'd get himself safe, and then strike back if it didn't inconvenience himself too badly." Her fingers tightened again, bunching the fabric between them. "How did I miss that?" 

"Because he tries to hide it," Antoc said, reaching out and taking her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "From himself, as much as the rest of us. But he had a reason. And near as I can tell, you're probably the perfect embodiment of that reason. The idealism he always tries to hide made flesh." 

"And then I gave him the chance to fuck it," Mon pulled her hand out of Antoc's, and dragged her fingers down her face. "You're right, I called that entirely wrong."

There was something very sad in her voice, and Antoc couldn't help but reach for her again. She stiffened, holding a hand up between them. "Not now, please," she said stiffly, before moving just out of arms reach to go off and shiver by herself. 

Antoc was left with the miserable sense that he had broken more than he had fixed. But she had asked for honesty, and Antoc had never seen the sense of hiding behind pretty lies. Antoc closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the cold wall. That was something else people always got wrong about Davits. He didn't believe in pretty lies, either. 

Everyone knew the spymaster lied, they never stopped to wonder who the lies served. Antoc had been watching a long time. It wasn't Davits. 

Antoc sighed. He had fallen in love with the man somewhere along the way. Terrible idea, really. He cracked an eye open and looked sideways over at Mon. Maybe he _was_ jealous. 

Mon caught his eye, flattened her lips, and looked away. Antoc closed his eyes again. Jealous, sure. But that didn't mean he was wrong. Still, the feeling he had misstepped, missed something, nagged at him. He sat there and did his best to work out what it was. 

His reverie was interrupted when the door to their little cell swung open. One of the thugs walked in and Antoc caught the middle of his sentence, "—want no trouble, we just thought these folks seemed suspicious and were holding them for you, so is there a, uh, reward or anything for—" 

And behind the thug walked an Imperial officer. The officer's eyes widened underneath the low brim of her uniform hat, and she started reaching for her commlink. 

So much for the plan of 'wait and let Davits ransom us,' Antoc thought wryly, as he tucked himself forward and launched into the officer's side. 

The fight that followed was short and brutal. Antoc wrapped his fingers around the officer's blaster at the same time the thug delivered a vicious kick that caught him across the ribs. Antoc grunted as blinding pain arced through him, but he kept himself steady and twisted the blaster as he pulled the trigger, dropping the officer. 

He was still pivoting to bring the blaster to bear on the thug when a solid thwacking sound behind him informed Antoc that Mon had entered the fray. The thug was on the ground, Mon wrapped around his knees, and Antoc dispatched him with a quick shot to center mass. 

"Change of plans," Antoc informed Mon, who arched an eyebrow as she got to her feet again. 

"No kidding," she said dryly. She brushed her hands against her skirt in a brisk motion. Antoc noted the tremble in them, and decided not to comment on it. "What's the new plan?"

"Find the garage," Antoc decided. "There's got to be a speeder there."

Mon scavenged a shockstick from the thug, and the two of them made their way out into the base as quickly and quietly as they could. Surprise was with them, he was able to take out two more thugs without any return fire, and Mon crept up behind one and shocked him to the ground with a slick professionalism any soldier would envy. 

"Very nice," Antoc said approvingly. 

"Hang around soldiers long enough you pick up a few things," Mon said, flashing him a small grin. 

Antoc saluted. 

There was more alarms, more feet pounding, more desperate scramble to stay ahead of the people looking for them. Antoc opened a side door, hoping it was to the garage, instead finding a small side courtyard. Footsteps echoed in the hallway behind them, so with a quick glance at each other, they ducked outside. 

There was one Imperial, standing under a small overhang, lighting up a small stimstick under the bare bulb of the overhead light. The man looked over at them, eyes widening, but his blaster was still holstered at his side. Antoc's blaster was already out. 

_Advantage, Antoc._

The man dropped with that distinct smell of ozone and char that came from blaster wounds. Antoc almost got used to not dealing with that scent, in his bloodless black war. Probably good for him to remember. Death was death, even if in the sky it seemed clean.

Mon darted forward, stealing the Imp's blaster off of his hip. She gave a small grunt of satisfaction as she pulled out a set of vehicle key cylinders. 

Antoc gave her a quick nod, stepping forward to find figure out where the Imp had parked. And what he had parked. 

The door swung open behind them, just as Antoc spotted the grav-cycle the Imperial had rode in on. 

Beautiful.

Antoc grabbed for Mon's shoulder, pointing her at the cycle as he sprayed wild covering fire behind them. They both sprinted for it, and he banged his shin as he threw his leg across the seat, shifting into driver's position. 

Mon clambered on behind him, wrapping one arm tight around his waist as the other, with the blaster, fired vaguely toward the attackers. "I don't think this was built for two people." 

The engine roared to life underneath him, and Antoc felt a highly inappropriate surge of excitement. Alone with the Rebellion's main civilian leadership, sporting two small hand blasters and one unarmored, overpowered grav-cycle, this was exactly the sort of situation cold mathematics told him he was supposed to avoid. 

Well, there was a reason he hadn't grown up to become an accountant. 

"Hang on!" he called over his shoulder, a wild grin on his face, and he used his foot to rev the power and the grav-cycle leapt to life. 

Mon yelped and quickly wrapped her other arm around him, pressing herself tight against his back at the sudden acceleration. Antoc hunched forward and milked more speed out of the craft, they were out of sight of the building in seconds. Antoc wove them quick through a few dark corridors, a tangled path that would shake most observers. If they got eyes in the air, though... 

"Shuttle or drop point?" He asked over his shoulder.

"Shuttle," Mon called back. "My contact would kill me themselves if I brought this much attention down on them." 

"Fair." Antoc flicked the handlebars, dragging the grav-cycle into the next gear, and they shot forward even faster. "I won't worry about blending in, then." 

He would swear that he felt a put-upon sigh against the back of his neck. She didn't actually protest, though, just wrapped her right hand around her left wrist to hang on a little more securely. Merrick figured that was permission enough, and he shot out into traffic, screaming past the other speeders. He hadn't flown like this groundside since a truly idiotic bet in his early twenties, fast and reckless, with total disregard for other drivers. 

He had to admit, it was fun. 

He took a jump over a broken-down bridge mostly to shake anybody trying to pin them in, partially because he knew he could and he _wanted _it. Triumph fluttered in the back of his throat, as he stuck the landing perfectly, barely a jostle before they were away again. Mon's appreciative little gasps against the back of his neck did absolutely nothing to soothe his reckless instincts, and he took the next turn even faster, pushing the grav-cycle to its limits, the wind whipping at his hair. 

They roared outside the city limits into the surrounding forest, and Antoc kept his speed just on the safe side of dangerous, whizzing in and out through tree trunks until they reached the small clearing with the shuttle. They roared into the clearing, Antoc swinging the grav-cycle around in an admittedly showy gesture that landed them right next to the shuttle ramp. 

Mon stumbled off the grav-cycle, and Antoc hopped off after, offering his arm as she staggered. She grabbed at his forearm and glanced up at him. There was a fire in her blue eyes, a high ruddy flush on her pale skin. 

Antoc gave a delighted smile. "You enjoyed that!" 

Mon laughed—a short, sweet sound. "Just get us out of here." 

It was a good order, and Antoc was more than happy to follow it. He keyed in the ignition, and (in no small part thanks to his reckless flying) they were able to jump through the atmosphere and into the stars long before any of their pursuers caught them. 

With the long lines of stars in hyperspace streaking by their viewport, Antoc turned to Mon. He could feel his wild smile tug at the corners of his mouth, that heady cocktail of after-battle adrenaline coursing through him. 

"Come on, admit it, it was fun," Antoc pressed, tilting his head and giving her a knowing wink. 

The strangest sequence of emotions flicked across her face. If Antoc hadn't made a long study of Davits' microexpressions, he never would have caught them. But he had, and as clear as day he saw Mon get excited, a slight flush high on her cheekbones, saw the way her tongue just barely darted across her lower lip. Then, for a flash, she was stricken, her eyes widening, heat draining out of her cheeks before it barely had the chance to bloom. 

When Mon spoke again, her voice was perfectly under control. "Excellent work, General. I appreciate your effective action." 

Abruptly, Antoc realized what he had gotten wrong, back in their little cell. "Shit," he cursed. 

That was enough to jolt Mon out of her perfect formality. She blinked once, startled. 

"I didn't mean you should be alone," Antoc said turning his palms up, almost reaching for her. "You deserve better than loneliness."

The transition was abrupt, but Mon followed his logic easily enough. "I don't really see an alternative," Mon said, and her smile was so sad it nearly broke Antoc's heart. 

"Davits isn't the only option," Antoc pressed. "I don't—please, I don't think this is about you and your position. Trust me, ma'am, I personally know dozens of folks that would jump at the chance to help you let your hair down. They'd die for you, they want you to be happy." 

"I don't want someone who would die for me," Mon snapped, the anger that she usually kept so controlled and tightly channelled slipping off its leash. "Why else do you think I let myself—" Mon cut herself off with an angry bite. 

"Davits always pushes back..." Antoc said, slowly understanding. 

"Yes," Mon's fists slowly relaxed, a gesture that seemed to be a deliberate letting go, "so I thought I was safe." She paused, and after a moment, admitted, "I think I feel betrayed. It's not...nevermind." 

"You think you'd be so protected from sentiment, with him." 

Mon inclined her head. "Exactly. And if I misjudged him… Being alone is the safest option." 

"Come on," Antoc cajoled, "that's not the spirit that lets you stand in direct opposition to the most terrifying autocratic empire we've ever known. I know you've got more resilient than that. You made a mistake, you pick yourself up and try again." 

"The Alliance to Restore the Republic is important enough to be worth the effort. This matter is just...stress relief." 

"I happen to think your stress relief is very important, ma'am." Antoc paused, tilting his head as he replayed her flicker of emotion. Before the stricken expression there had been...tongue darting out over lip, flush to her cheeks, she had leaned towards him slightly. Attraction. 

With a pilot's reckless commitment, Antoc decided to push. "I'll personally volunteer if you're interested." 

Mon coughed.

Antoc tucked his arms behind his head, trying for a combination of nonthreatening but still alluring. Civvies weren't quite as compelling as his dress blues, but he liked to think he still cut a decent figure. 

Mon reddened, and that felt like a victory all in itself. "I really don't think that is going to solve any of the dynamics issues. I'm surprised at you, General. I'd have thought you had more care for those sorts of things."

"It's not like I map out a four-stage tactical plan for interpersonal cohesion. It's all instinct. There's usually some sort of logic, though. Give me a second…" Antoc sighed, and leaned backward, closing his eyes as he thought through the angles. 

Across from him, he heard Mon shifting, and just about the time she cleared her throat (no-doubt preceding an attempt to escape the conversation) he had some sort of an answer he wanted to give her. "I love Davits." He opened his eyes, giving Mon a serious fixed expression. "And I'm not dumb enough to tell him that, so I'd appreciate you keeping it quiet too." 

"Then why would you—" Mon started, her voice tight and angry. 

Angoc held up a hand to forstall her. "I'm not so sure he loves me. But he does respect me, most days. I can get away with saying shit to him nobody else can." 

"I still don't see—" 

"Mon, please, let me finish talking before you debate my points," Antoc cut back across her words, raising an eyebrow. 

Mon sighed and settled her hands in her lap. "Very well," she said, her voice tight and uncomfortable. 

"Okay, so Davits respects me, at least a bit, and he understands I have his best interests at heart, even if he has no idea why. And with you, well, he's a smart man. He knows he's in over his head. Never going to admit it, but he knows it." 

Mon flattened her lips, clearly wanting to say something, but after Antoc paused for a moment, she just gave him an impatient gesture to go on. 

"He'd trust me to take care of you," Antoc said, feeling a sudden certainty as he said the words that they were true. "And If I have a chance with you"—Antoc held up his hands with a quick grin—"Not that I'm saying I do, Ma'am, you're very out of my league. But if you decided you wouldn't mind spending some time with me, and then I turned around and kept spending time with him…" 

"It puts the two of us on more even footing," Mon said with a sudden tone of realization. 

"Exactly." Antoc snorted as a thought occurred to him. "Hell, now that I'm thinking about it, keep on sleeping with him, just add me to the mix. That should throw him off enough to knock him out of his own head." Antoc winked at her. "I'd certainly be interested." 

"Well." Mon went stiff, and the only hint she was affected was how completely blank her face was. "That is certainly an interesting tactic to consider." 

Too far, Antoc thought wryly, backing off of his flirtation. In a studied show of relaxation, he lifted one hand from behind his head to give her a dismissive gesture. "I could be full of it. Like I said, it's all instinct. Here's the more important thing," Antoc unslouched, leaning towards her with a serious expression on his face. "You're doing an impossible job, you need spaces to take a break, I think I could give it to you, if you wanted it."

"Even if all that is true, it doesn't change the fact that you are someone who would die for me," Mon said, her tone wavering between rejecting and considering. 

"No, ma'am, I'd die for the Alliance to Restore the Republic. And I'm clear-eyed enough to know that you and it are two different things. You, for one, are much prettier." 

Mon's lips flattened, and for a long moment, Antoc was worried he had managed to read things all wrong. But then, behind her pressed together lips, a reluctant chortle started in the back of her throat, eventually making its way out in a hissing little breath, which grew to a full belly laugh. 

Antoc laughed too, and he could feel the tension in the room shatter like it was a tangible thing. Mon leaned back in the co-pilot's chair, wiping her eyes as tears traced out from the laughter. Antoc reached over and caught one of her hands. He bent over and brushed a light kiss against the back of her hand. 

Mon froze, but half a second later she seemed to make a decision, and her fingers tightened against his. Antoc looked up and found she was blushing, her throat working in a quick swallow. The expression was so clear as compared to her former impassive diplomatic neutrality that Antoc knew she was letting him see it. It was a gift. 

She squeezed his hand again, and drew hers back. "I'm still not convinced that this is a good idea"—she held up her hand quickly to forestall any protest—"but you've convinced me it might not be a terrible one. Give me a little time to think, Antoc." 

"Of course," Antoc said, fighting back a little bit of disappointment. He liked after-battle sex. It was wonderfully life-affirming. And it just felt good. But there had been plenty of battles he'd been in with no ready partners afterward, and, if the fates bowed kindly over him, there'd be plenty more to come. Hardly the end of the world. "Offer's open."

"Thank you," Mon said softly, and her sincerity rang through.

Mon didn't say anything for the rest of the shuttle ride, and they landed back on Yavin without broaching the issue. Antoc felt a vague sense of unfinished business lingering about the whole affair, but it was easily enough ignored. Mon was smart enough to know herself, and she knew what she needed more than anyone else. Antoc had given her the information. That was enough. 

The churn of business swept them both up as soon as they emerged from the shuttle. Antoc checked in with Cor to see how the squadrons were doing, which lead to needing to help Dreis plan a five-man raid on a supply depot, which lead to reviewing their fuel efficiency utilization, which lead to... 

Nobody had warned Antoc how _busy_ being a general was sometimes. 

He had managed to completely forget about the talk of assignations entirely, too focused on the thousand little details that begged for his attention, when General Davits Draven shoved open the door to his office. With a face like the wild mid-ocean squalls of Virujansi, Davits ordered Cor and the two assisting ensigns _out_, and Antoc abruptly remembered.

The two ensigns scurried out, but Cor gave Draven an unimpressed look, and turned to Antoc. More solid than durasteel, that one, Antoc thought fondly, as he gestured Cor out the door and turned to face the furious spymaster. 

Antoc cocked his hip against the edge of his desk, listing into an insouciant little lean. "'Lo Dav." 

Davits didn't move until the door to the office slid shut behind them. Then he crossed the room in four aggressive strides, fisted his hand into Antoc's hair, and kissed him full of teeth and fury. 

Antoc melted back against his desk with a groan. Wasn't how he had expected his next meeting with Davits to go. They knew each other's pressure points better than anyone else, but even so, Antoc could never be sure exactly what the fallout of a particular decision would be. This result, with Davits crowding closer in aggressive lust, was frankly a far better outcome than Antoc had ever anticipated. 

Antoc grinned against Davits' mouth and started to fight back, hands up under Davits' shirt, nails along the skin. 

Davits groaned and started mouthing his way along Antoc's jaw. "I don't worship," he hissed into Antoc's ear. 

"She told you," Antoc shifted so he could get a better seat on his desk and wrapped his legs around Davits waist.

"She also told me you offered to fuck her instead. Devious. Didn't think you had it in you." Davits' words were angry, but his body pressed closer, and the hand resting at Antoc's waist was almost gentle. 

That wasn't quite an accurate picture of what had happened, but in a debate between protesting his innocence and digging his fingers into the muscles bracketing Davits' spine, the urge to touch won. His pressing hands forced a soft groan out of Davits, and Antoc captured his mouth again to swallow the sound in a kiss. 

"Seriously," Davits said, pulling away again. "What were you thinking?" 

Antoc hummed, a little in annoyance, a little in contemplation. He didn't lie to Draven, but he did pick and choose which truths he told, and when. "It was always going to be a power play, between you and her. That's bad for both of you." 

Davits demanded a few more furious kisses after that, before managing to bite out, "So you threw yourself in the middle?" 

"Basically," Antoc said, weaponizing his smile. Dav had always been weak for it, and Antoc tried to use it sparingly. "I want you to fuck me while she watches." 

Davits didn't say anything, but the way Davits melted against him, the way Davits' teeth grew reckless against his neck spoke volumes. Tangible evidence that Antoc was on the right track. "Maybe while I'm giving her head," he continued, loving the way Davits jerked against him. "Maybe I pull off of your spent cock and drive right into her. Maybe I roll over and have her ride me while you pin me against the bed. Tell me that wouldn't be better than whatever furtive affair the two of you got up to." 

_The affair that left you so tied up in knots you grabbed a bottle of liquor and stumbled into my room, too drunk to do anything more than kiss me desperately, sloppy and tasting of alcohol. We both ignored the tears tracking down your cheeks. Then you couldn't look at me for a week, then you found me, fucked me, and left. I know you, Dav, and I've been in the middle the whole damn time._

He didn't say that bit out loud. Davits already knew it. And even more importantly, Davits knew that Antoc knew. 

"There's no way Mon will go for it," Davits finally said in response.

"You underestimate how charming I am, Dav baby." Antoc winked. 

Davits' eyes went soft. "I don't think I do," Davits said, sounding low and affectionate. 

Antoc felt his stomach flip over, heat rush his own cheeks. Obvious, as always. Davits didn't seem to mind, though, just kissed him again, this time gently, something pleading in the gesture. _I'm sorry,_ Antoc heard in the movement. Or maybe even, _Please._

Antoc kissed back, forgiveness and permission in the gesture. "I'll ask her," he said, whispered against Davits' skin. "It'll be good. I promise." 

"It'll be fucked up," Davits replied, because apparently he had reached the limits of his vulnerability. 

Antoc leaned back, taking Davits face between his hands. "Fucked up but good. Everything is." 

"True enough," Davits said, and smiled at him, honesty shining in that rare curve. 

Antoc leaned in and kissed him again. 

**Author's Note:**

> And then they have very hot sex and it's...yeah, a little messed up, but also much better than what they had before. Wartime relationships are complicated like that.


End file.
